A Ride in a Car on a Friday Afternoon

Twenty-four years. The silver had tarnished before they had reached their twenty-fifth. Anne Richards Harding looked over at her husband, Lee, whose blond hair had turned silver fifteen years ago. At least he hadn’t gone bald, like the husbands of her friends had. Better to just shave it all off than have that ring of hair around the head, she thought. Oh, but what did it matter now? They wouldn’t be seeing each other anymore after this. There were no children to bind them together, only the memories of one, though those memories had torn them apart. Their marriage had been over a year or so after Anna Lee’s death, or whenever the grief had turned to blame.

Anna Lee.

Everyone had said they should name her Leann, but Poe’s “Annabel Lee” had come to mind; they had fallen in love with it, as they had fallen in love with…